


Talaria

by Moorishflower



Series: The Trickster Saga [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude in which Gabriel and Sam find the time to 'talk.'  Takes place between chapters 4 and 5 of The Surprising Adventures of Sun Wukong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talaria

  
"So, what, Cas and Dean are…" Sam trails off, because he still doesn't fully understand it. There aren't words in the English language, in any _human_ language, to describe precisely what Gabriel is telling him. It's sort of like marriage, sort of like swearing fealty to a Lord, sort of like the instinctual bond between a parent and child. It's all of these things, and a dozen others, but none of them fully encompass the reality of it.

"Bonded," Gabriel says, after a moment, and it's a good word. A solid word. It sends a shiver of recognition down Sam's spine – there's a part of him, some part that Gabriel has touched, that recognizes the depth of meaning in those syllables. "And I'll bet you anything your brother threw the fit to end all fits when Castiel told him. All they need to do now is consummate it."

"Oh, dude," Sam protests, "I have no desire to hear about my brother's sex life."

"It's more than that. Sex is a substantial part of it, but it's hardly the ultimate intimacy, as far as angels are concerned. Castiel started the ball rolling years ago, when he decided _he_ was going to be the one to rescue the Righteous Man from Hell. I can only imagine what his reaction was when he saw your brother for the first time."

"Dean said there were a lot of exploding lights," Sam offers. "And that Castiel…tried to talk to him. But that it was just noise."

Gabriel purses his lips. "Because Castiel is young, and stupid. He marked Dean as his, but never followed through. Pussy."

Sam's hand automatically reaches for his arm, where he knows Castiel has left the deep scar of his handprint on Dean. His skin aches in sympathy, and he isn't sure why.

"It's big, isn't it," he says softly. "This thing, with them. It's big."

"It's always been that way. This is how it was always meant to be."

"And us?"

Gabriel turns to regard him, and Sam gets the feeling that this should be happening elsewhere, not in a Holiday Inn (an epic fight with demons warrants something a little fancier than the usual roach motels, Dean had said). This conversation is the type to be held in a place where magic is still common, someplace wild and _dark_. There's a glint in Gabriel's eyes that Sam associates with the Trickster, not the archangel, but he doesn't feel threatened. Only curious.

"I've been thinking about it," Sam continues. "When you said that you…marked me. You compared it to when Castiel carved the sigils into our ribs, but it isn't really like that, is it? It's like when Cas pulled Dean out of Hell. It's like this…_bond_ that they have. I can _feel_ you, even when you aren't around. I can…sense things. Not like before, but…it's like being able to look at the world through two different types of glasses. And it isn't supposed to be that way, but it doesn't feel _bad_. So, I guess…tell me if I'm just making things up to make myself feel better. If this is nothing like what I think it is."

Gabriel is quiet for a long time. So long, in fact, that Sam is worried that he's pushed too hard, too far, too soon. Even after all that Gabriel has invested in them, in _Sam_, will this make him have second thoughts?

But, "You're not," Gabriel says, breaking the silence. "You're not making things up."

"Oh," Sam says. Because he hadn't really been…expecting this, this easy acquiescence. He'd been expecting a fight; he had expected Gabriel to…defend his right to remain unattached, or something, because Sam knows that Gabriel isn't the settling type, and this bonding thing sounds…unutterably _permanent_. This is the sort of thing that _gods_ can sense, the sort of thing that's going to be blaring out from Sam's soul for the rest of his life.

He had been ready to commit himself to Jessica, but he thinks an angel, an _archangel_, is something totally different.

"Your brother's coming back," Gabriel says, and when Sam glances towards him, there's nothing. Gabriel is gone, but Sam can still _feel_ him, distantly. Like the faint echo of a whisper.

The door to the room rattles, and then opens, and Dean steps through. He looks tired, and a little bit pissed off.

"Were you fighting with Castiel?" Sam asks, because he's curious, and because he thinks Gabriel was right, when he said that Dean would throw a fit. Dean is even less into commitment than Gabriel is.

"Fuck you," is Dean's response, and he throws himself onto the other bed without taking his shoes off first.

Which is basically a 'yes.'

~

Dean leaves the room exactly once, in order to go out and grab some sandwiches from a nearby deli. He brings Sam a turkey on rye with way too much mayonnaise, and sits on the bed eating his own pastrami sandwich with the sort of gusto usually reserved for really good pie. If Sam hadn't known something was wrong before, he would now, because that sandwich does not look anywhere near delicious enough to be getting that much of Dean's attention.

"So, this thing with Castiel," Sam says, and Dean pauses in the middle of chewing a huge bite of pastrami and bread. He stares at Sam with an expression that Sam interprets as 'don't even go there,' but it's hard to take someone seriously when they have chipmunk cheeks and sandwich crumbs on their chin. Sam soldiers on.

"Gabriel explained it to me."

Dean swallows (with some difficulty). It's amazing that his stomach can handle that sort of abuse. "Aw, Samantha, are you and your boyfriend talking about me behind my back? 'Cause that is not cool."

"Gabriel isn't my boyfriend," Sam says automatically, but he realizes, somewhat abruptly, that if Dean had used the word _husband_, Sam wouldn't have been able to complain.

Because they, _both_ of them, are basically in the engagement stage of angel-marriage.

Which is very nearly the weirdest fucking thing Sam has ever thought.

Sam reaches for the Nehushtan, a bright coil of copper on the nightstand beside his bed. He curls his fingers around it, holds it close, the way he sometimes sees Gabriel holding his Horn. There's something there, worked into the metal, that makes Sam feel a little bit better when he's got it in his hands. He can only imagine what he was thinking when they went into that restaurant without it.

He carefully slips it over his hand, onto his wrist. He has big hands, but the Nehushtan never seems like it has to stretch or bend in order to fit over them. Dean watches all of this, sandwich still in hand.

"He told me that Castiel's been…interested in you since before he even met you." 'Interested' isn't the best word, but Sam doesn't care – it's the one that will catch Dean's attention. "Out of all the angels sent to pull you from Hell, Castiel was the one who decided that _he_ was going to save you. That the mark he left…" Sam gestures towards Dean's arm. "…was basically a promise to you. Like…swearing loyalty, or something. I don't know how to explain it. It's like…"

"…It's like you get it," Dean says faintly. "Like you understand it, but you can't really explain how."

"Yeah," Sam says, and they both fall silent.

Dean digs his fingers into his sandwich, tearing off a chunk of bread. He rolls it into a tight ball, and then examines it for a moment.

And then he throws it at Sam.

"Dude!" Sam protests. Food fights are so painfully high school that he can barely stand to consider it. But Dean is smiling, and, after a moment, Sam realizes that he is, too.

"I'm still pissed," Dean says slowly. His smile fades, but not, Sam is glad to note, entirely. "So don't go picking out matching tie pins or whatever. All this time, and he's never told me…what he did. And he chooses _now_ to try and explain it, and you know what he said? He said he didn't want it to 'interfere with the mission.' Like it's gonna change _shit_ as far as the relics are concerned. I mean, this gives me the right to make out with him in public, right?"

"Gross," Sam says, more out of perfunctory brotherly disgust than anything else, and Dean grins at him, quick and sharp.

"It's just that he didn't tell me," Dean repeats. "And now apparently I'm gonna, what, _sense_ him? Fucking bizarre."

"It's weird," Sam agrees. "Feeling them."

"Yeah, well. It figures that we both end up in the same Heavenly matrimony boat, huh? Always copying me, Sammy."

Sam snorts, because Gabriel never really gave him a choice about this. Neither of them were given a choice, and maybe that should feel like it's a violation or something, but that's not the spirit in which it was done. Castiel claimed Dean when he pulled him out of Hell. Gabriel claimed Sam when it became apparent he needed extra protection. And it's led to this, and Sam can't bring himself to regret any of it. Not the relics, not the long trips in the car…not Gabriel. Nothing.

"Honestly," Dean continues, "I'm just…tired. I'm too tired to stay angry about it. But it's still…weird. And I'm not fuckin' apologizing for yelling."

Sam secretly thinks that 'tired,' in this instance, is actually being substituted for 'happy,' and 'weird' is probably standing in for 'terrifying.'

But that might just be him.

~

Sam revises his opinion on Dean and Castiel's newly wedded bliss the next day, when he comes back from getting a Lean Cuisine at the corner store and realizes that Dean has hung a sock on the door. He stares at it for like, a whole minute, right up until he hears someone _moaning_, and then he practically runs back to the hotel lobby. He wishes for a comfortable sofa to curl up on, maybe in the fetal position, but no dice. He settles into one of the hard-backed 'if I wait long enough they have to serve me' chairs and taps his fingers on the armrest. His Lean Cuisine is starting to drip condensation all over his hand.

"Heya, kiddo," Gabriel says from right beside him, and Sam nearly jumps out of his skin. His sense of awareness, his sense of _Gabriel_, goes from 'still in existence, but far away' to 'right fucking _there_' in about half a second flat.

"Fuck," Sam says, and the night manager glances up, looking like she disapproves. "Don't _do_ that!"

"But your surprised face is so _sexy_," Gabriel says blithely. "Speaking of sex, is it just me, or are your brother and my brother bumping uglies upstairs?"

"Please don't remind me," Sam groans. "I did my part, I encouraged it, but now I _don't_ need to hear about it."

"So you don't want to hear about how flexible Castiel is?"

"The fact that you even know that is disturbing to me," Sam says, and leans over until he can sort of bury his face between his knees, his sad, eating-for-one microwave dinner growing soggier in his hand.

Gabriel lightly touches his back, skims his fingertips over the curve of Sam's spine, and, okay, that's nicer than Sam expected it to be. Gabriel touches him in public (usually indecently, and much to Sam's dismay), and Gabriel likes to hold him at night (Sam usually sleeps through it), but Gabriel doesn't do…intimate. Doesn't often touch Sam without reservation, without thought. Almost everything Gabriel does is calculated and precise, except for this, right here.

"There's no way I'm going to be getting any sleep tonight," Sam sighs, trying to ignore the shiver of _want_ that curls down his spine. Dean gets to have _his_ angel, but Sam…he isn't sure. He thinks he wants to wait for Gabriel to make the first move, just to be sure that he's serious.

"Huh," Gabriel says. And then, slowly, "Can I show you something?"

Not 'I want to show you something' or 'Come on, I'm gonna show you something.'

_Can I?_

There's no way Sam can say 'no' to that. He raises his head to study Gabriel's expression (a little closed off, but it's easy to see the earnestness behind it), and then nods.

Gabriel snaps his fingers.

~

"Jesus," Sam says.

"Nope. Although I could take you to Golgotha, if you wanted."

Gabriel looks a little tired, a little worn around the edges. Since they retrieved the Horn, casual displays of power – like this one – haven't left him as drained as they used to, but Sam imagines that blowing up that diner, cracking all those banishing sigils, probably took more out of him than he cares to admit.

But even with that in mind, Sam's breath is taken away by the sheer beauty of this place that Gabriel has brought him to.

_Mountains,_ is Sam's first thought. They are surrounded by mountains, huge and towering and snow-capped, and the first thing that Gabriel had done upon them arriving was magic Sam into a thick jacket, because it's _cold_. Even though it's summer, it's freezing this high up. Forests of pine and dense, unimpressive fields of scrub brush surround them, hardy enough to survive even this freezing climate.

"The Canadian Rockies," Gabriel says with relish, and nudges against Sam's side, blazingly warm even through Sam's jacket. "But that's not what I wanted to show you. Look up."

Sam isn't sure how looking up is going to eclipse the sheer _majesty_ of the landscape that surrounds him, but he does it anyways.

And is proven wrong.

"Wow," he says, struck stupid with awe, because what the fuck kind of word is _that_? It's nowhere near close to encompassing how he feels, looking up into the endlessly black night sky and seeing the streaks of light there, like falling stars that have frozen themselves in time. It's like the sky is a giant plasma screen, and those trails of whiteness are smudges of pressure, left behind by someone's errant fingertips.

"It's beautiful," Sam whispers, and his breath clouds in the air, forms ice crystals and then disperses.

"They're angels," Gabriel says, and Sam's eyes widen in brief panic before Gabriel continues, "But don't worry. We're hidden."

Sam leans against Gabriel, and the archangel easily takes his weight, but he's still worried.

"Do I want to know how?"

"It's nothing that's going to be coming back to bite me in the ass later, if that's what you mean. I can lay low when I want to, and, despite your bizarre height, you're not that difficult to hide, either."

"You must like _something_ about my height," Sam teases, some of the worry seeping from his tense shoulders. "Otherwise you wouldn't still be here."

"It's been growing on me. Sort of like mildew."

Sam laughs, grabs hold of Gabriel's arm and drags him backwards until they're both reclining in the snow. Sam can't feel the cold and, after a minute, he notices that Gabriel is slowly melting a circle around them, revealing the patchy scrub brush and damp earth beneath the ice.

"So, they can't see us."

"Nope." Gabriel lifts his hand, points to the largest smudge on the horizon. It's not only white, but faintly yellow and pink, too. "That one is Hadraniel."

Sam squints. "The dick that's been chasing us?"

"Mhm. Although I'm starting to think he doesn't really want to _catch_ us, if you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure that I do."

Gabriel sighs explosively, a gust of ice forming across his mouth, melting just as quickly. "Hadraniel isn't some pussy foot soldier, Sam. He's like…one of Heaven's guard dogs. Makes sure that unworthy souls don't sneak in when no one is looking. You can't even begin to comprehend how powerful he is. He's basically the next step down from an archangel, and that's nothing to slouch out. He could give _me_ a run for my money, if he wanted to. So when I say that if he wanted you and your brother dead, and Castiel's head on a silver platter, _you_ would say…"

"…He'd make it happen," Sam murmurs. "So why hasn't he?"

"That's what worries me. I don't know what his end game is, and I don't like not knowing things."

Sam throws his arm over Gabriel's waist, just because he can. That's still not making the first move, right? And Gabriel is so warm against him, like a tiny space heater.

"I am _not_ tiny," Gabriel says. "You're just _freakishly large._"

"I keep forgetting you can do that," Sam says, cracking a smile. "If I tried hard enough, could I read _your_ thoughts?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Probably. If I let you."

"Will you?"

Gabriel gives Sam a _look_. But it isn't derisive, or smug, or scornful. It's just…a little bit fond, a little bit amused. Endlessly patient.

"I've shared my Grace with you," Gabriel says slowly. "I've seen parts of you that no human will ever be able to reach. I've left a part of myself attached to your _soul_, Sam. It'd be rude of me if I didn't offer you the same opportunities."

And then he reaches up, presses two fingers to Sam's temple, and the world goes blank.

The beauty of the scenery around them is nothing compared to the jumble of artful chaos in Gabriel's head: light, noise, sensation, vague snippets of memory that Sam can't translate, even with how Gabriel has changed him. He thinks, although he isn't sure, that he might be seeing Heaven through the eyes of an angel, but the images vanish as soon as he tries to identify them. Like they're too much for him to see, even through memory.

And there's love.

Sam has never thought of love as being a tangible force before – it's always been an emotion, capable of being suppressed or encouraged the same as sadness, anger, fear. Infinitely preferable, of course, but, ultimately, not the sort of thing that could move mountains or change the world. But for angels it must be different, because the force of what Gabriel feels, not just for Sam, but for the whole _world_, is roughly the mental equivalent of being run over by a freight train. Sam realizes, distantly, that he's gasping, that Gabriel is soothing him with kisses to his eyelids and cheeks and the corner of his mouth, but it's hard to focus on something as petty as the physical world when faced with exactly how much boundless and unfettered _joy_ there is in Gabriel.

There's pain, of course. Sam can feel it, a distant echo – old wounds from when Lucifer was first cast down, from when Michael grew distant, from when Gabriel left. And there's bitterness, and loneliness, and anger. But it's far outweighed by Gabriel's adoration for humanity.

For Sam, in particular.

Sam thinks he might pass out for a few minutes, because when he next opens his eyes Gabriel is staring down at him, pupils blown wide and dark, and Sam's pants are damp, sticky against his crotch. He glances down, mostly bewildered, somewhat pissed that he doesn't remember exactly how they got that way.

"Fuck," he says. And then, "Did we just have angel sex?"

"There's no such thing as angel sex," Gabriel says primly – his eyes glitter, puckish, in the moonlight. "We're totally without gender. Sex is an Earthly concept, not a Heavenly one."

"Bullshit," Sam growls, and then grabs Gabriel by the scruff of his neck, pulls him close so that he can cover the archangel's lips with his own, lick into the wet, pliant warmth of his mouth. Gabriel makes a sound that's sort of like a low purr, a rumbling in his chest that sounds somehow _satisfied_, and Sam rolls them over, grinds down against Gabriel. His dick is still sensitive from an orgasm he doesn't remember, but Gabriel is hot and hard underneath him.

'Earthly concept' Sam's ass, Gabriel had probably known _exactly_ how that…that melding of soul and Grace would have affected him.

"You're a total asshole," Sam growls, bites at Gabriel's bottom lip until the archangel's groan ripples, almost tangible, between them.

"Yeah, but you like me anyways," Gabriel sighs, and Sam doesn't dignify that with a response (Gabriel has seen inside him, has touched him in some vast and nearly-incomprehensible way, so of course he _knows_ already), only reaches between them and thumbs open Gabriel's fly, pulls down the zip and shoves his hand inside. Blazing hot. Salt-tang of sweat and the crackle of ozone – Sam is fairly certain that, a few months ago, he wouldn't have noticed that second one.

"Should've guessed you'd go commando," he hums against Gabriel's mouth, curls his fingers around the archangel's dick and thumbs the head, slick and sticky with precome. Gabriel's voice grows louder, higher-pitched, when Sam gently scrapes his nail against the looser skin around the swollen head. Fuck, he's willing to bet anything that Gabriel has a pretty cock, all flushed dark and uncut. He probably tastes sweet – Sam wouldn't put it past Gabriel to make his come taste like sugar.

The bright smudges of angel against the sky blare down at them, and Sam thinks, clearly, distinctly, _Fuck you. He's mine._

"So, are we angel-married now?" Sam grins, sharp, against Gabriel's mouth when the archangel makes a strangled noise, halfway between 'touch me there, harder, _yes_' and 'I wish you wouldn't talk during sex, it gives me a headache.' Gabriel's libido must win out, though, because he thrusts up impatiently into Sam's hand, precome slicking over Sam's palm, easing the way.

"Do you want us to be?" Gabriel gasps, nips at Sam's lips and soothes the hurt with his tongue. "You feel like sending out wedding invitations? Come and witness the beautiful joining of Mister and Missus Samuel Winchest - _ah_."

Sam rolls Gabriel's balls in his palm, somewhat restricted by his pants, but he works it out. And it gets Gabriel to stop bullshitting for a second, which is the important thing.

"Tell me the truth," Sam says patiently; Gabriel's soft, panting moans are making him feel more than a little hot under the collar, but he's older, he's tired, and mostly what he feels is a distant echo of pleasure. He can probably do this all night, if he wants to. Gabriel must hear the thought, because he levels Sam with a look that could probably crumble cities.

Sam just thinks it's _cute_. Which, really, is the biggest indication of how much has changed between them.

"_Yes_," Gabriel hisses, shoves his hips up, rides Sam's palm like it's his own personal pony. "Yes, you're _mine_. You're mine and I'm yours, and there's no fucking chance I'm letting you back out of this."

"Good," Sam says, sucks Gabriel's bottom lip into his mouth, and then bites down, hard enough that he can taste the faint tang of copper against his tongue. It's nothing like how it was with Ruby – this is a clean, clear taste, like drinking from a wild stream, like touching newly fallen snow. Gabriel _keens_, an otherworldly noise that Sam thinks he probably wouldn't even be able to hear if it weren't for this delicate, scorching-hot connection that's been forged between them.

"Yours," Sam whispers, just in case it wasn't apparent, and Gabriel stares at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, mouth pink and stupidly wet as he arches his back and then comes all over Sam's fist, throat working around a low, thick groan. Sam keeps stroking him through it, until his hand's sloppy with come and Gabriel starts to hiss in discomfort. Sam sucks the last traces of metal from Gabriel's mouth, and then raises his hand and idly licks a string of semen from his fingers.

Gabriel whines.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you," he mutters. "You're going to fucking eat me alive."

But Sam knows – doesn't know how, and doesn't care – that Gabriel is secretly pleased. That he's bitching just for the sake of having something to complain about. He leans down again, kisses Gabriel until the archangel starts making soft noises of protest against his mouth.

"You're insane," Gabriel says when they break apart again. But it's…he sounds _fond_. Maybe a little bit smitten.

Sam can totally work with that.

Above them, the bright plasma smudges of the angels, of _Hadraniel_, slowly begin to wink out of sight, until there's nothing left but the dark slash of the night sky, and the looming mountains, and the clean scent of pine.


End file.
